


to tokyo, with love

by orphan_account



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Conversations, Epistolary, Exes, Gen, Letters, M/M, Misunderstandings, Moving On, Post-Break Up, Tokyo (City)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:40:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27384322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: After years of disconnect, Changbin collects his heart to mail a letter to Tokyo. He writes down his soul, puts it in an envelope, seals it with a stamp and drops it at the grey old post office building, his heart crumbling a little. He's proud of where he is now, but there are things he regret. Namely, Hyunjin.In Tokyo, Seungmin decides to write back.
Relationships: Hwang Hyunjin/Kim Seungmin, Hwang Hyunjin/Seo Changbin
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32





	1. color me blue

**Author's Note:**

> "And when she smiles, she knows I'm happy too, in blue."  
> ~In Blue, Declan McKenna
> 
> [1] Some of the places in this fic are completely made up. For eg. Isong-ri. 
> 
> [2] There's a possibility that you might have seen this before, I posted it earlier for a different fandom years ago. 
> 
> [3] To the reader, thank you for giving this fic a chance. Hope you enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's hard to bare his heart, but sometimes, Changbin realizes, everything is worth it.

Dear Hyunjin,

How is the sky there in Tokyo? Is it as grey as it is here? Does the sun peek out of the clouds often there or does it hide its rays, saving it only for special days like it does here?  
Sometimes the moon here turns red, and I can't help but wonder if you can see the scarlet moon too; or does it only bleed here, its pain and wounds dulled down by the bright traffic lights, the blaring car horns, the loud bustles of people living their everyday life in Tokyo?

They say the big cities only come with loneliness wrapped in false laughter. Do you feel lonely?

I think they got it wrong. I like it here. It's nice here. I've always enjoyed Gyeongsang-do more than Gyeonggi-do, but sometimes it gets so lonely. The quiet gets overwhelming and I don't think Tokyo could ever get as resonatingly and  
tauntingly lonely as it does here.

There were times in my youth I would visit the noraebang every weekend, it was almost a ritual. I liked the loud back then. Maybe I still do. But Yongin is silent in comparison to Seoul. Yongin is a dream, the perfect mix of too loud and not. Sometimes, during my high school days I had to count sheeps to sleep. Because it was too quiet, like life had been drained off the city. The silence of the city nagged me so as soon as I got the chance, I moved to Seoul.

So it surprises me that someone like me ended up here, in Isong-ri.

Sometimes it also surprises me that you ended up in a city, because on nights we'd talk till 3 am in the morning you would complain about how much you hated Seoul and tell me all your secret escapade plans to some county in Gyeongsangbuk-do that your grandparents lived in.

It's funny, I guess. It is supposed to be funny, I guess. It's like a long dragged out joke with a punch line that never seems to come.

I would probably make a pun out of it, if I was in the mood.

Much has changed since, you know how the story goes. We met, we fell in love and you left for Tokyo, while I ended up here in Isong-ri, hoping you'd come back.

You never did.

I should've known.

I was twelve when my mother took me to Tokyo, it was spring and the Sakura were in full bloom. Everyone seemed so kind and polished, but there was a strictness in their eyes that intrigued me, the way everything seemed to fall in place step by step, methodically. Writing it here makes it seem intimidating, but it was warm and welcoming.

I grew up in a family of raucous laughter. My father had always been calm, and they made fun of him for that. I grew up to be like them, loud, boisterous. I grew up loving noise. I grew up to be like the drunk uncles and aunts who mattered less and less as I grew older and looked down on my father because they said he was useless, a no man, that he should've been born a woman. Young and foolish as I was, I thought I should have been ashamed of him.

But it was on that trip that I realized that I liked methodical, I liked caution, and the nine year old me had never felt prouder of my father. And when I looked at my mother as she took in with awe the streets of Tokyo, I saw reverence in her eyes and in that moment I knew that as distant as my father was, an office going man, starting out at 8 and coming back at night, always the same routine, always the same time, nothing would ever change the fact that he was the man my mother fell in love with.  
Seoul has a magic of its own, with the great Han watching over it. Sometimes it can seem like it's only tall grey buildings and empty promises, but it's also fast paced, incredibly bright and filled with hopeful hearts- things my mother treasured when she was in her teen years.  
She left that to be with my father.  
Yongin is loud, sometimes the noises can fill up your empty spaces but the suburbs of Yongin are nowhere as loud as Seoul. Did my mother feel the emptiness when she left? I don't know. But she never turned back. That was when I realized I was lucky to have my father, the man my mother was in love with, the silent distant man who went away at the same time every morning and came back at the same time every evening. No change, almost periodical. Sometimes he'd overwork, make sure his wife and children never had to lack anything. A good man. Too good.

It feels so long ago, and at the same time it only feels like yesterday that I'd be in front of the T.V. looking at the old grandfather clock above it wishing my father was over-working that night because I still wanted to finish my cartoon, and then the doorbell would ring. Almost clockwork. My mother would run to the front door with her sweetest smile. He'd give her a chaste kiss on her cheek as soon as the door opened. He'd come and sit on the sofa, take the remote from me and send me to do my homework. And maybe my childish heart would hate him a little as the channel changed to a News Broadcast. It was all so repetitive. It was like a television soap. Except those had dramas, like the husband cheating or the wife going psychotic and weaving a murder plan.  
There was no drama in our lives. It was too perfect. Sometimes we struggled financially, and maybe my father could've been weak willed and give in to stress, get home drunk and cause a mess. Or maybe my mother could've gotten bored and sick of the mundane suburban housewife life and ran away. But even the shrieking silence of dull suburbia couldn't push her away. Seoul has a magic of its own. But my father also has magic of his own. My father is quiet, nothing like Tokyo, but as she stood there watching the bustling streets it was easy to tell she saw my father in the spirit of the city. She fell in love with Tokyo that day.  
So did her son.

I always wanted to go back to Tokyo. I don't know why I said no when you asked me to come along. Maybe I did because Tokyo meant running away, far from home. And it scared me and angered me that someone I wanted to build a steady home with wanted to run away. But I understand why you never came back, why you stayed. That city is too easy to fall in love with. It's too much like Seoul and nothing like Seoul, it comes in a perfect package of familiar and alien, so I should've known.

Sometimes I think about the what ifs and if onlys. What if we were still together. If only you had stayed. If only I had gone along. But I guess both of us were too stubborn, our egos too big, and that's how we ended up like this, stranded on two different ends of civilization.

You, in the crowds of Tokyo, the hustle and bustle of the busy streets, the electric hum of the printers and computers and coffee machines. Sometimes, I like to imagine you wasting your weekends away in arcades like we used to when we were younger. Sometimes I imagine you dancing in rhythm with other bodies at nightclubs. I think about how everyone at your office must love you, and how you must make them laugh. I think, and with every thought, your face gets blurrer, more unclear. Sometimes I can't even remember what your eyes looked like. It's been so long. Sometimes, when the guys visit me, talk about you seeps into the conversation, maybe it's them intentionally but subtly letting me know you're okay, and it makes me wonder if they do that to you too. Do you know I'm okay too?

Do you think about it - me, in the dreams you left behind long ago, the place of green mountains and magical tales. From where I live I can see stretches of fields at the foot of surrounding green hills and at a distance, at the horizon, tall blue mountains.

There's a rock on one of the taller nearby hills nearby, they call it the wish granting rock. Sometimes I hike up there and pray that my parents are happy, because my prayers were all I can offer them.

And it makes me guilty that I struggle to make ends meet. That I can't help pay for their medical bills. I feel sorry for my parents, and on bad nights, I feel sorry for you too.

I think about how our conversations will go if we meet again, speak to each other again. I can almost hear your voice sometimes. Other times, I can't remember your voice. But most times I can, that soft deep timbre that held so much wonder and warmth.

"Hyung, the sounds of the city disturb me," you'd complain when you couldn't sleep.

"Hyung, you make the best food," you'd counter-comment, if Jisung ever called my food bland.

"Hyung, do you think we could be good parents?"

Hyung this, hyung that. And in the later years, Bin-ah, Binnie, Jagi, Jagiya.

You were so innocent, Hyunjin-ah. Sometimes I think I broke you. At the beginning you always smiled. Never a frown. In the end, we were fighting so much, and I could see you struggling to hold back your tears and sometimes I wondered if you hated me. Sometimes I wondered if we had grown to hate each other. If I hated you too.

Maybe if we meet, I'll ask if you ever hated me.

And maybe you'll ask "Hyung, why are you in Gyeongsang?"  
"Hyung, why did you leave your job in Seoul to move to a village in the middle of nowhere?"  
"Hyung, why haven't you gone to Seoul in years?"

And I'll say I don't know. I always liked the loud, Hyunjin-ah. And Isong-ri is quiet, gratingly so, and sometimes I feel so lonely I drive up to Andong-si just to escape the silence.

But only sometimes.

Because mostly Isong means irregular routines, doing whatever I want, waking up to cocks crowing. Do you know how liberating it is to wake up to something that's not an alarm set by yourself? I feel free Hyunjin-ah. I run a small convenience store in the village market, my neighbor owns a large dog that looks more like a wolf, and there's a village guard who walks the area at night to keep foxes away. Sometimes I watch the night sky, and here, I can count the stars. It's so quiet that I can hear the baby five houses down crying. But it isn't quiet even when it is. 

The song that the birds sing during the day is carried on by the beetles at night. The old lady who lives next to my shop likes to say they sing songs of kings and queens, of warriors and martyrs, of mothers who sacrificed, and of the soldiers who died during the two battles of Andong. But I hear another story in the songs, I hear your voice and your laughter and sometimes if I listen carefully I can hear two hearts breaking.

I like my father and I like Tokyo but my heart belongs somewhere else. Here. I'm happy here. I guess this is my explanation for why I didn't go with you. I didn't have the answer myself until now.

Tomorrow I'm visiting Geochang, for some supply work, and I can hear your voice.  
"Geochang, Arim, Geota, Geoyeol, the bright place of beautiful wide fields." I remember the tune too. And it's true, some places contain memories that will forever haunt us. Geochang will be one of those places. Even if you only ever lived here in your dreams. And I don't mind. I like remembering you. Even if I'm grasping at straws. And sometimes I feel as if as much as the fields of Gyeongsang give me freedom, they also hold me captive and chained. To memories. To the past. To you.

So if I can never escape at all, what's the point of hiding it?  
I love you.  
Always have. Always will. It's not supposed to be a grandiose declaration - I've never been good at those. It's just the way it is. How could I not? You were like a dream, laughing, smiling, telling me I'm perfect even when I'm not, believing in me even when I didn't, always so open with what you felt, always so honest, so innocent.

So I send this to Tokyo, with love, with no expectations of a reply, with hopes that you will read this and look at the sky and wonder how clouds look here. Maybe you have someone new. Maybe you don't. Maybe you'll tell them there once was a Seo Changbin in your life. Maybe you won't. No matter what, I only hope you're happy too. Because I am, and sometimes I feel sick thinking of how sad I made you. You didn't deserve that. I'm sorry.

from, the fields of Gyeongsang.

P.S. And when you smile, you know I'm happy too

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not really a new work but I enjoyed editing and changing stuff up so I hope you did too.  
>   
> *************************************  
>    
> If you have any questions, here's my [ cc](https://curiouscat.qa/yolrin).


	2. how sweet it will seem, once more just to dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere between Seoul and Tokyo, Hyunjin got his heart broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I originally wrote this for the other fandom, all my intentions were for this to be a one-shot.  
> However, I decided to add this later on, and things just sort of fell into place. For all it's purposes, this work is a two-shot: a look at Changbin and his emotions through a letter he penned down and a look at life from Hyunjin's side.

"I don't know what he thinks of himself", Hyunjin begins, scrubbing the sink for the third time that morning. "It's not how it works." 

"I know. But I mean, this is something." Seungmin flips through a home décor magazine, this time supposedly meant for victorian style houses, which neither Hyunjin owns or ever will. Last time he had found one for underwater houses. "He's trying, I guess." 

Seungmin can hear Hyunjin gritting his teeth, a habit he had swore he had gotten rid of the last time they met, or perhaps the one before that. Seungmin can't remember. These days all the times they meet are the same, sitting through Hyunjin excessively cleaning the kitchen or the bathroom. Chan had told him to suggest therapy to Hyunjin, that it may be getting borderline obsessive.

"Trying? To do what? Sabotage my chance at happiness?" Hyunjin asked, incredulity dripping through his voice. Seungmin can't see his face, it's turned away from him, towards the kitchen sink, and sounds of the scrubber on the porcelain. Hyunjin uses the costly kind, the soft spongy kind, the kind that does not scratch the surface of the ceramic material. Seungmin tries to think about the last time Hyunjin used cheap things.

Seungmin sighs, as Hyunjin turns around, his bright red rubber gloves standing out in his attire of soft blues and whites. 

Hyunjin looks at him, his eyes disappointed. He's expecting an answer. The truth is Seungmin doesn't know either. Seungmin is as disappointed in Changbin as Hyunjin is. But he hasn't met the man in years. And Hyunjin hasn't met him in even longer. Chan has, and if he thinks this is good for both Hyunjin and Changbin, maybe Seungmin should trust him. They both need closure, Chan had said. But that's the thing, Seungmin realizes as he watches Hyunjin wordlessly turn around and begin uselessly scrubbing again. Hyunjin doesn't need closure. He already had his own version of closure when Changbin refused to come along with him, and left him.

Seungmin remembers late nights, drunk and emotionally exhausted, Hyunjin slurring out curses at the man who broke his heart. 

"I begged him, Seungmin-ah, I said we could make it work even a sea apart." Hyunjin says, breaking his train of thoughts. I know, Seungmin wants to say.

"I think I even offered to quit my job at some point, I don't even remember. I was such a mess." Hyunjin did, Seungmin knows. He was there when he cried over his broken heart, and he's here now, as his fiancé, still ready to be his crying shoulder if he needs one.

"Chan thinks you should meet him." Seungmin blurts out. "I mean, if you're still angry, you can shout at him or something. It might make you feel better." 

He's not angry. Seungmin knows. That's the thing. He's not angry anymore. Chan said closure. Truth is Hyunjin doesn't need it. He already has found one. This whole thing is not for Hyunjin. It's a one-sided closure for Changbin. And Chan. While for Hyunjin, it's like reopening his own wounds. Wounds that have healed. It's selfish.

Hyunjin sighs.

"I'm not angry. You know that."

"I know, I'm sorry." Seungmin's voice is small, and he almost wants to disappear into the couch he's sitting on. He has long since forgone aimlessly flipping through the magazine, and his eyes are focussed on Hyunjin's back and how much more tense it seems ever since the conversation started. 

Seungmin feels utterly hopeless, as if he has failed Hyunjin. He can see the disappointment through the droop in Hyunjin's shoulder, and suddenly he is struck by how much Hyunjin conveys through his body and how much he observes Hyunjin. And belatedly he wonders if Changbin observed these things about Hyunjin too.

And suddenly Seungmin hates Changbin with so much more might than he did before. Because he knows somehow that Changbin observed and knew all this about Hyunjin too.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Seungmin is still insecure. He had watched Hyunjin fall in love with Changbin. And he's scared he'll never measure up to that young rush and that foolish, almost childish, unending admiration.

"Don't be sorry", Hyunjin says, as he finishes up with the sink, probably to move to the bathroom next. Seungmin once complained if this was how they would be spending every holiday in the future and Hyunjin had laughed at him and told him to stop whining. He thinks about how it used to be Hyunjin who whined when they were younger. And with a surge of anger he remembers how it was Changbin he whined to. And Seungmin should not be angry, but he is and even though Hyunjin just told him not to feel sorry, he feels even more so.

"Also I told you not to listen to Chan hyung, he's stuck in the past, Seungmin-ah. Minho hyung said he still goes to the old bar where we used to hang out and sits there for hours. He wants the old circle back, but he doesn't understand that it can't be. That it would be toxic to some of us."

*********************************************************

"Seo Changbin hyung,

The sky in Tokyo is beautiful. It changes through times, seasons and years. But it's beautiful, always is.

As about Hyunjin, he is happy. He's happy, that's all I can say. Is he lonely? I don't know.

I wish I did. 

Sometimes it gets lonely here in Seoul, and it's hard travelling all the time. So sometimes, with all his costly furniture and his new obsession for cleanliness, far away from his family and friends, I suppose he must be lonely too.

He has friends there too, though. You know how he is, he makes friends everywhere he goes. And he's been there for almost five and a half years now. So he has friends, and a nice old lady for a neighbor. And they love him, and he loves them too.

And whenever I visit him there's always someone around. There's a short statured strong willed man who loves to talk about politics and can spin thousands of jokes about any politician in the world. His name is Kenzi. He taught Hyunjin how to make Katsudon, and Hyunjin insists that if I ever tell anyone about the friends he's made here, he's the first I should talk about. He's Hyunjin's colleague by the way. Then there's Aiko, Kenzi's wife who is equally funny and kind. There's Haruhi, who likes to indulge Hyunjin in all his nonsense, and who wears the brightest colored clothes. There's Daisuke, who religiously loves football. There's Kobe, Saburo and then there's Minako, due to whom I have since been demoted from the best friend position. And I think Hyunjin is always surrounded by noise.

But even the noise can be quiet. To echo your words, sometimes, I think the quiet gets as overwhelming here and I think Tokyo can also sometimes get as resonatingly and tauntingly lonely. Even amongst the noise.

Hyung, I don't know what I'm supposed to tell you. 

I miss us sometimes, all of us. And I miss you, and I'm sure Hyunjin does too.

But he made his choice the moment you refused to go with him and broke his heart. I don't want to put the blame on you, but I was there on the nights he was crying.

I heard him curse you, praise you, saw him build you a pedestal and saw him break it down when you left it unattended to. 

I don't want to write much, because it's his life and when I told him we should reply, he told me to mention that he hates you if I decide to go through with it and that he was having no part in it.

But the truth is he doesn't hate you, hasn't for a long time. He hasn't been angry at you for a long time. He's in a good place right now. And he deserves to be happy.

And admittedly, he is happy. He's doing well. We have a dog in our Seoul apartment, and the wedding preparations are in full force and sometimes we fight but I guess that's okay.

And I know this might seem mean if you look at it from some angles, but we talked about it a lot. We discussed it and it would mean a lot to us if you could attend the ceremony. You don't have to. But no matter what, you were important to both of us in so many ways. I hope you know that.

[attachment::invitation]

P.S. I know there once was a Seo Changbin in his life not because I witnessed it all but because you were very important to Hyunjin. I don't know if it'll provide you any solace but anyone in Hyunjin's life would have known you. 

Kim Seungmin"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know some of you might not like this ending but somehow this feels complete. Like anything I add after this will be an unwanted addition, a sidenote, an afterthought.
> 
> *************************************  
> *************************************  
>    
> If you have any questions, here's my [ cc](https://curiouscat.qa/yolrin).


End file.
